


Sweater Weather

by xTammyVx



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Famous Niall, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Non-Famous Zayn, Pining, Riding, Rimming, Secret Crush, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-12
Updated: 2015-06-12
Packaged: 2018-04-01 19:57:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4032670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xTammyVx/pseuds/xTammyVx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn't until they were outside the club that Niall squeezed Zayn's hand and said, “Come back with me?” then, “I kinda like you.”</p><p>Zayn wasn't stupid; he knew that the number of people Niall had slept with over the span of his four-year-long career was exactly what one could expect from a superstar, and that he probably pulled with lines like that all the time. However, simmering below that self-awareness was the unbelievable, untamable fire spreading from where they were touching, and all Zayn wanted was <i>more</i>.</p><hr/><p><b>2015</b>: Zayn meets Niall on a post-concert night-out.</p><p><b>2019</b>: Niall comes home for a mid-tour break.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweater Weather

**Author's Note:**

  * For [countthestars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/countthestars/gifts).



> Prompt: _au in which niall is a popstar/famous singer and zayn is a huge fanboy. or maybe zayn is his ratty uni boyfriend. idk i want famous niall with the whole world in the palm of his hand and sweet introverted zayn, and both of them being so ridiculously into each other. could be established relationship or how they meet, totally up to the author._  
>  \--[countthestars](http://archiveofourown.org/users/countthestars/)
> 
> Thank you, [freakforhoran](http://freakforhoran.tumblr.com/) and [laziallgna](http://laziallgna.tumblr.com/) for being my betas! Bless!

**2019**

There isn't a thing on Earth that Zayn would trade for this life, nothing that could persuade him to turn on his heel and walk away. It's not perfect but it's fucking close enough that if Zayn believed in miracles, in fate, and in luck, he'd point to himself as proof. He wouldn’t change a second.

So it never ceases to amaze him that something great started as three things he hates: a cliché; a morning; and a hangover.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

**2015**

The first mistake was waking up, because the second Zayn's brain began to function beyond fuzzy shapes that made no sense, it fucking _hurt_. Above the realisation that he'd managed to make it into a bed—rather than passing out on whatever horizontal surface he could find—he was utterly dumbfounded, lost in the dizzy spell that seemed to make the world wobble and tilt. It wasn't the kind of hangover that sat behind his eyes for a few hours, sulking whenever someone spoke too loudly or made a sudden noise. It was like turning on the car with the radio on maximum volume, except he couldn't just panic and hit the button. He needed water. And painkillers.

Zayn made the painstaking effort to open his eyes another ten percent. Upon further investigation he was somewhat smug to note the classic beige walls of a hotel room. Sick. He actually went home with someone, which would be so much better if he could remember who.

The cliché came about when Zayn turned over, his bones creaking and his muscles aching, and discovered someone he knew all too well, even in the semi-dark and half-mushed against the pillow bunched beneath his arms. He'd know that face anywhere; it'd been a circulating on the calendar in Harry's kitchen for the past four years.

Numb as he was, Zayn didn't stick around to investigate further. He found the ensuite (fluffiest towels in the world included, good god) and a brand-new, complimentary toothbrush that hadn't been opened. He washed every inch of himself ten times over, even cleaning between his toes while he scrubbed his brain raw for the details of last night's adventure.

He and Louis went to the concert. Obviously. They went for the X Factor tour, which Zayn secretly maintains was on par with having good sex for the first time, so of fucking _course_ they were going to be there for the fifth tour. Front row, in fact. Afterwards, Zayn needed a drink to calm his heart before it split in two from sheer excitement, so they hit up a few clubs, then retired to the pub five minutes from their place. Wasn't too busy, since it's more for old folk who want a pint and a meal than twenty-somethings who want to get proper fucked up.

And then _it_ happened. _He_ happened.

Niall Horan.

He was accompanied by a few big lads with arms as thick as both of Zayn's legs put _together_ —not difficult; they're twigs at best, no matter how often Harry drags him into the gym—and his smile was bright enough to power cities. Countries, maybe. It was all drunk and big but _soft_ , kind in a way Zayn didn't know possible when his laugh boomed so loudly just seconds later. Zayn turned around and faced the bar, ordering his drink with a voice on autopilot.

“Next one's on me,” he heard, then, “Nah, let me grab it. Not gonna get mobbed by these fellas,” before _Niall fucking Horan_ was at Zayn's side.

Zayn turned his head, because if Niall Horan was going to stand within mere feet of him, you could bet your arse Zayn was going to look, make sure he got the outline right when he was sketching Niall's profile the other night in front of the telly, watching his tour DVD. Zayn didn't even get a peek at Niall's browbone-to-nose angle, since Niall was looking right at him, too, with that cool, kinda-dopey grin that went a bit slack when they locked eyes.

“Y'alright, like?” Zayn heard his voice yet he still couldn't believe he had the courage to speak. Niall seemed surprised, too, except he was looking at Zayn's tee shirt.

“Yeah,” Niall nodded. “Pretty quiet, here.”

“Almost like people aren't down for partying on a Tuesday night,” Zayn said, grateful for his Bradford drawl because it masked how much he was freaking out.

He wasn't sure what he'd expected, but Niall's _laugh_ wasn't one of them. No number of YouTube compilations could prepare Zayn for the sweet thickness of it, the depth of the throaty _ha-ha-ha_ that came out of Niall's mouth. Zayn's stomach rose two feet and dropped six.

“Just us, the fucking wild things,” Niall grinned, _nudging_ Zayn with his _bare elbow_. “Like them monsters from that book.” He caught the barman's eye and spun a circle with his index finger, eyes big and excited. “Want to come back here with us? You're a good laugh.”

Zayn picked up his drink—and Louis', which prompted him to send a text that just said, _Come here! :D_ —before following Niall to the table. It was in the VIP bit, a big booth with comfy, leather seating and a table between. The security guard eyed Zayn fiercely but fondly, like he totally expected Niall to go out for a round and return with a stray.

“What's the craic? Who's this?” he asked, and Zayn's eyes did their very best not to pop out of his skull. _Paul Higgins_ was sat at the table, drinking his pint and trying not to laugh as Niall slid into his seat.

“I'm Zayn,” Zayn replied.

“ _Zen_? Wha'ss'at?” the man frowned.

“Z-A-Y-N,” Zayn explained, taking the spot next to Niall.

“That's such a cool name,” Niall beamed.

“Son, move your arm,” Paul frowned, and Zayn obeyed, worried he'd moved too close to Niall or something. “No, the other one.” Zayn revealed his tee shirt, confused when Paul broke into a chuckle. “No fucking way, you bastard.”

“Shut up,” Niall groaned, smirk plucking the corner of his mouth anyway.

“You were front row, weren't you?” Paul went on mercilessly. “This bugger here slipped me his number to give to you.”

If Zayn weren't sharing a table with his favourite musician in the whole wide world, he'd think _that_ was the craziest thing he'd heard all night. “What?”

“Kept rambling about the fecking _stunner_ with the _Cool kids don't dance_ top,” Paul added, shaking his head and taking a hearty chug of beer.

“Stop, you'll scare 'im off,” Niall complained, slumping onto the table and sparing Zayn an apologetic glance. What he had to be apologetic about, Zayn had no fucking idea, but he managed to put what he hoped was a cool smirk on his face, that _look_ that Louis hated him for.

Speaking of, Louis rounded the corner with his eyebrows twisted in confusion and partial anger.

“I got all the way out from our table, Zayn, _our table_ , as in the one you were supposed to _return to_ once you finished buying the drinks _I_ paid for, by the way, just to find out that you're socialising,” Louis prattled on, and Zayn let him make a right tit of himself because it was hilarious when his face dropped to something far dumber.

Paul pointed at Louis. “And _you're_ the one who got into a tizzy with that girl behind you.”

“At the concert? Yes, well,” Louis said, fumbling for some decent footing, “she told me to sit down during McBusted. I told her to stand up. And she got the _Year 3000_ lyrics wrong. Sang the Jonas Brothers one.”

“Aw, the Jonas lads are alright,” Niall said, and the fact that he was _still_ smiling made Zayn's head spin.

Niall was actually the easiest person in the world to get along with. Sitting behind Zayn’s unbeatable adoration for him had always been the worry that Niall's smooth wit and kind face was a total arsehole, so it was actually a relief that Niall turned out to be quite chill. He was exactly Zayn's kind of guy. Actually, Zayn couldn't help but be caught off-guard by Niall's attitude, his sense of humour, and how warm his hand was when it settled comfortably on Zayn's thigh and stayed there for a good half-hour.

“Last round, lads,” Paul announced, earning a table-wide groan.

Zayn's heart knotted up instantly. After tonight, he'd never see Niall again, and that would be the end of the one of the best things to ever happen to him. What was he to do? Ask for his number? Try and take him home to his and Louis' ugly flat? _No_ , he thought sadly. _This is it_.

“What are your plans after this?” Niall asked, his hand tensing gently.

“Home,” Louis shrugged. “Might not be able to sleep, and I have the day off tomorrow, so I'll probably pass out then.”

“Haha! Classic,” Niall grinned. “Zayn?”

“Same, I think,” Zayn nodded. In all honesty, his plans also included a wank as soon as he was sober enough to get it up.

Disappointment made itself clear on Niall's face in the way his brows tugged together, and the corners of his lips became weighed. It wasn't until they were outside the club that Niall squeezed Zayn's hand and said, “Come back with me?” then, “I kinda like you.”

Zayn wasn't stupid; he knew that the number of people Niall had slept with over the span of his four-year-long career was exactly what one could expect from a superstar, and that he probably pulled with lines like that all the time. However, simmering below that self-awareness was the unbelievable, untamable fire spreading from where they were touching, and all Zayn wanted was _more_.

Sparing each other a glance, Zayn and Louis got into the car. Louis was let out first—with wide eyes and a breathless, “See you tomorrow, Zayn,”—then they continued towards Niall's hotel. If Zayn had been in a right state of mind, he maybe would've tried to remember the name, but all he could focus on was Niall, his grip and his smile and his knee, pressed against Zayn's even though there was plenty of room for them to spread out, and his arm over Zayn's shoulders.

They removed their outer layers in the hotel's living room, then made for Niall's bed. They didn't kiss. Niall took off his shirt and said, “I'm big spoon,” with an unexpected firmness to his tone. Not protesting, Zayn nodded, smiling to himself as he rolled over and got comfortable in Niall's arms.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

**2019**

“What time's he here?”

Pulling his gaze up from his phone, Zayn tried not to scratch his jaw. Everything's itchy, but it's an itch caused by missing Niall, not by lice, even though Louis keeps asking how the colony in his hair's going, remarking that Zayn will have to repeat his 2015 buzzcut. “About six-thirty.”

“Where's he coming from?” Louis asks.

“France,” Zayn says, not even having to look at the Niall Horan 2019 Tour Guide app to know. “So no jetlag.”

“Sick,” Louis nods in approval. “In for a good shag, then? Sure you don't want a bud to take along? I'm not even going to ask when you last got off while you were high.”

Zayn smirks, closing his eyes for a second before saying, “Niall always comes too fast when we're stoned, like.”

“Ah,” Louis nods understandingly. “It's been three years, but if I remember right, you used to give _Harry_ a sore jaw while you were high, and that’s saying something.”

“Like, Niall and I are already synced,” Zayn shrugs. “Don't wanna mess that up just for a stoned orgasm.”

Louis' eyes roll back into his head, wet mouth falling open. “But the _orgasms_ , Zayn. Stoned orgasms are the best kind!”

“Second-best. Orgasms with Niall come in first,” Zayn corrects him.

“Oh, fuck off,” Louis exclaims. “You’re— What’s the male version of pussy whipped? Dick-whipped doesn’t sound right.”

“Keep thinking. It’ll come to you.” Zayn rocks off the sofa and onto his feet, finally giving in and scratching his face and neck.

“Whatever. I'm not sharing a hairbrush with you, Zayn _My Head Is A Lice Haven_ Malik,” Louis snorts.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

**2015**

As soon as Zayn got out of the shower, he found a text from Louis that said, _CALL ME no matter what time!!!!!_ However, he answered the phone with, “Shitting hell, what in God's tits' name possesses someone to call their bed friend at the crack of dawn?” even though it was 1pm.

Instead of, “You literally told me to phone you,” Zayn whispered, “I'm still in the hotel.”

“Yeah? Is Niall clocked out?” Louis asked, matching Zayn's volume even though their flat must have been empty.

“Yeah,” Zayn replied. “We didn't even shag.”

“I'm not surprised,” Louis scoffed. “You were _well_ pissed. Liam and I had a bet on whether or not you'd be able to—”

“Thank you, Louis. Good to know you're keeping me down to earth, like.” From the window, Zayn could see over the top of every building in sight. Jesus Christ. If Zayn looked out his window at home, he'd see across the alley to Liam's and Sophia's bedroom, and sometimes they fucked with the curtains open as their way of being risqué, so Zayn didn't really look out there too often. Harry suggested that it was their way of subtly asking for a threesome. “I've already showered. Should I just, like, leave?”

“What?” It actually sounded as if Louis was getting out of bed, which was incredibly worrying since it was a Wednesday, and Louis didn't work Wednesdays. He shouldn't be out of bed until 4pm at the very earliest.

“Like, he's one of the biggest popstars in the world. He won't want me hanging around, yeah?” Zayn tried to say, but it was very difficult with Louis talking over him.

“No way,” Louis spluttered. “You're _not_ leaving until he wakes up and boots you out! Kicking and screaming! Or whatever cool, moody alternative you call pull off instead.”

“Lou,” Zayn sighed.

“Fun fact, Zayn - you left your key at home. I'm looking at it right now,” Louis said, “so I'm the only one with a key.”

“Liam has a key,” Zayn pointed out.

“It's their eighteen-month anniversary, Zayn, hence the sunshine-smile Liam's been sporting for the past few weeks. Judging by what Sophia's wearing in their living room, those two'll be pretty busy,” Louis tutted.

“Fuck's sake,” Zayn muttered.

On some level, he was jealous of Liam and Sophia, because it would take something really special for Zayn to have sex with the same person for eighteen months without getting bored. (Harry’s special something was that he was up for a fuck at the drop of a hat - anywhere, anytime, any kind, any position.) Their rather excessive collection of toys and lingerie definitely had something to do with it. Harry was even more supportive of his threesome theory after that treasure trove was revealed during a very strange pre-Christmas party.

The shower turned on in the other room. “He's awake.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Louis hissed. “Go eat that popstar's cock!”

“Behave.” Zayn was semi-hopeful but also realistic; hangover sex was the worst kind of sex.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

**2019**

Cleaning Niall's house isn't too much of an effort, considering Niall keeps it pretty tidy between trips, so really all it needs is a dusting and a fridge update. Zayn fills the fruit bowl, buys the steak Niall needs for his Jamie Oliver recipe, and gets some fresh air flowing through the rooms.

Zayn loves it here, he really does, but only when Niall's around, too. It feels too big for one person, feels like a place that needs someone to _live_ in it, not just sit on the sofa and draw, or watch telly, or make dinner for one person while listening to R &B classics on the speakers. Niall doesn't just come home and rest; he lives here, has his photos on the walls, takes pride in the interior design, picks out furniture for the rooms, so when it's only Zayn puttering about, everything feels too stand-still.

There was never a formal invitation for Zayn to move in. On one hand, he has a key, and Zayn’s here day and night when Niall’s in London. Niall's never asked Zayn to leave the studio apartment he started renting after Louis got married and they left their well-loved little flat behind.

It’s not that he’d say no, or that he doesn’t want to be here, but Zayn tried staying after Niall had left. It took three days for him to realise that there were only so many times he could wake up to a big, silent house before he went a bit stir-crazy. Since then, they have an unspoken understanding that Zayn needs to be somewhere built for one person.

Empty space only serves as a reminder that Niall isn't around to fill it.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

**2015**

The fidgeting started with Niall, a nervous lad who hid it well. He stood in the middle of the room with only a pair of boxers on his skinny legs. The jagged scar was paled from the candids posted online, above skinny shanks to rival Zayn's. They looked at each other with semi-surprise, and it only took a moment to break into sheepish grins.

“Sorry if I ruined your plans to, eh, leave unnoticed,” Niall said, obviously joking but still soft enough that Zayn understood it wasn't a hint.

“Forgot my clothes, like,” Zayn replied in the same tone, fingertips falling down Niall's nipple to his opposite hip as he moved past Niall to his clothes. Niall caught those fingers in his grip as Zayn passed by, stopping him from slipping away.

“Maybe we could have a boxers-only day,” he suggested.

“Careful, popstar, that was almost _shy_ ,” Zayn smirked.

“I'm only human. All humans need boxers-only days, and I wanna spend mine with you.”

That was possibly one of the most romantic things anyone had ever said to Zayn, and it made his heart jerk just a bit. “Sounds like a plan.”

“Sick,” Niall beamed, pulling Zayn into the bed. His lips didn't come close to Zayn's, and though the place on Zayn's thigh burned where Niall's hand had sat, this was cool, too. He was hanging out with Niall Horan in a hotel room, watching _Avengers: Age of Ultron_ like it was something they did all the time. Niall had a way of making it instantly comfortable, and Zayn told himself not to, that this sort of heartbreak was for soap operas and— someone _else_ , someone who could be on the front page of _The Sun_ , and give interviews, and walk red carpets. Not Zayn. Not a quiet little boy from Bradford. Whatever this was would be confined within these pristine walls, and Zayn would just have to live with that.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

**2019**

They used to have little _welcome-home_ things. Louis, Harry, and Liam would come along, they'd get hammered, and Zayn and Niall would eventually sneak off to have obnoxiously loud _I-missed-you_ sex. Now that they're all nearing their mid-twenties—no longer riding that impatient need to meet up the second Niall touched down, pour drinks, get smashed, fuck, and pass out—an easy pint the next day or the day after that will do. Zayn has two options for tea, tonight: Niall can cook, if he feels up to it; or Zayn can make chicken stirfry and rice.

Niall calls from the airport, his voice groggy and clogged, which is a good thing because it means he slept.

“Zaynie? You there?”

“Yeah, love,” Zayn smiles. “How was the flight?”

“Good. Rocky at one point, but not bad or anything.” Zayn hates flying, whereas Niall’s neutral to it. The best part about having a private plane, he says, is that there’s so much space. “You got dinner sorted?”

“Just waiting for you to come home, like,” Zayn says softly. “Do you want to cook, tonight? Or are you wrung out, superstar?”

The line buzzes with background noise, no immediate answer following Zayn’s joking tone. Before he can ask what’s wrong, Niall seems to release whatever’s made him quiet; “Bit knackered, but I’ll manage. Have we got any brussel sprouts? Garlic?”

“Of course,” Zayn lies, and starts locating his wallet and jacket. Tesco is a five minute walk away.

“Thanks, Zaynie,” Niall says.

“It’s alright. Love you, yeah?” Slipping his jacket on, Zayn pauses and waits, biting his lip.

“I love you, too. See you in a bit,” Niall says, grin audible, and hangs up.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

**2015**

Zayn didn’t expect Niall to keep his number, let alone use it. The first text was a surprise. The second was even more so, because it meant that Niall didn’t text him by mistake. What followed was phone calls, coffee, and movie nights. Niall made it too easy to fall into a casual routine of meeting up, dicking around, and chilling out. Zayn felt like he should’ve seen this coming, but on the other hand, how the fuck was he supposed to know that walking into Bad Granny’s pub could’ve led to becoming good friends with his idol?

It was dangerous territory when Zayn stopped seeing Niall as Niall Horan, and started seeing him as _Niall_ , his mate. Zayn had always prided himself on being a laid-back lad, and it didn’t take long for him to realise that it wasn’t an _effort_ to relax around Niall anymore.

The reason it was dangerous was that while the tight spring of excitement calmed down, the underlying crush never ended. It bloomed. It went from a fanboy-type cluster of nerves to a skipped heartbeat whenever Niall laughed.

And Zayn didn’t know what to do with that.

They never shagged, never even kissed, and that made whatever they were doing harder, somehow. Friends-with-benefits was easier to outline than friends-who-sometimes-held-hands-and-touched-each-other’s-nipples. Zayn looked to see where Niall stood with everyone else, if he put a hand around anybody else’s waist, or tried to snuggle up with them on the sofa, but there must have been something about Zayn that Niall liked, because Zayn seemed to be the only one who got the special treatment.

Liam refused to believe that they’d never had sex. Harry gave what he probably thought was helpful advice, but actually sounded like he was high off his fucking face. Louis attempted to meddle. He’d give Zayn and Niall their own popcorn bowl so that their hands would bump, or take up space on the sofa so that they would be squashed impossibly close.

“When are you going to ask him out?” he’d ask.

“Why don’t you bloody date him if you’re so keen?” Zayn would reply, but it was no use. Louis was a great example of Newton’s first law of physics, a force that was unstoppable until he got his way.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

**2019**

This would be the first year that a child would attend the Welcome Home drinks. Sophia had Liam’s baby at 9.12am on January first, after eleven hours of labour that began when her water broke in Tesco’s Ethnic Foods aisle.

Delilah has Sophia’s smile, and—much to Louis’ delight—Liam’s overly expressive eyebrows, which is what makes her so entertaining. It’s like having a little Liam crawling around, eyebrows either caught in excessive concern or excitement. She’s too young for her parents to consider a babysitter, and the fact that Liam and Sophia will be leaving early because of their child makes it painstakingly obviously how old they’re all getting.

When Zayn was younger, he wasn’t sure if he’d ever want kids. He liked them enough, so babysitting wasn’t so bad, but they were definitely a lot of work, and he gets overwhelmed in stressful situations. Harry’s easily the most baby-obsessed person Zayn’s ever met, _begging_ to take Delilah out to the mall for some clothes shopping or an ice cream. Louis and Eleanor had their first child exactly nine months after their wedding day, and they couldn’t have kept Harry away if they’d tried.

Zayn and Niall haven’t really spoken about children, if they’d have them, if they’d adopt, if they’d use a surrogate, or anything like that. In a perfect world, Zayn and Niall could get married and go down that path, but with Niall on the road three quarters of the year, it all sounds more like a pipe-dream than a future.

Some days, Zayn catches himself thinking about what it would be like to raise a family with Niall. Now is one of those times, as he eyes a baby in a pram by the stacks of baked bean cans. She’s close to newborn, with sleepy eyes and chubby arms, head barely covered by a thin layer of fluffy, blonde hair. He deliberately shuts the train of thought down, because the _want_ grows a little more every time, and it’s sometimes just a little painful to think about.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

**2015**

They had _moments_ , sometimes. One of Zayn's favourite things about Niall was that he was such a people person, but that also made it impossible to tell if they were romantic moments, or just overly close but nevertheless _platonic_ moments. Any which way, his stomach always juggled his lunch around just thinking about it.

When Christmas came along, it was alright. Quiet. Niall was with his family, Zayn with his own, and they texted each other the entire fucking day.

Then New Years Eve followed hot on Christmas' heels, along with its whirlwind of new stuff as per usual: a mysterious stain on the carpet; Louis deciding between optimistic resolutions and realistic resolutions; and Niall, at Zayn's flat.

“Oh, shit,” Zayn said when he got Niall's text. “Erm, Louis, could we tidy the kitchen up a bit? Niall wants to come over.”

“So? The fucker farted on my lap last night. He doesn't care about cleanliness.” Louis tipped the controller, veering Waluigi into another cart. Louis was always Waluigi. Harry was babbling about something over Skype, pen tucked behind his ear while he distractedly chewed another one, but his frown of concentration turned to concern when Zayn used the remote to turn off the telly.

“ _Lou_ ,” Zayn hissed, scooping up some clothes from the floor and dropping them in the hamper. Louis turned around very slowly, with raised brows and an open mouth.

“ _You_ care,” he realised, “because it’s _Niall_.”

“I don't mind him knowing that we live in a small flat with thin walls, but I don't want him thinking we live in a shithole. He's got a really posh place,” Zayn tried to explain.

“ _I_ have a really posh place,” Harry pointed out.

“That's different. I've known you since I was seventeen,” Zayn replied, stacking the dishes as he spoke.

“Interesting.” Louis was suddenly at the kitchen counter, placing his laptop down, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the surface so he could cup his chin in one hand and flick the kettle on with the other. “Remember when we met?”

“Yeah, ’cause you barged in and introduced yourself while Harry was blowing me,” Zayn said.

“All those years of mutual blow jobs, yet Harold says he hasn't had a taste since you’ve met Niall,” Louis countered.

“True,” Harry said.

“Not true,” Zayn frowned.

“You got frisky after a day of cuddling,” Harry pouted, like the bloody five year old he was.

“One cuddle-induced shag is hardly something to be proud of,” Louis said, unimpressed.

“It wasn’t even a proper shag,” Harry went on mournfully. “It was over in ten minutes.”

“You came first, man,” Zayn exclaimed. The temptation to shut Louis’ laptop nearly overpowered his sense of maturity.

“Because I’d been deprived,” Harry said.

“Come on, Zayn. Don't we at least get to know _why_ Harry’s not getting his daily dose of Malik knob? At this rate he'll have to fuck your dad to get his fix.”

“Please don't fuck my dad,” Zayn said to Harry.

Louis’ eyebrows rose again. “You like him. You really, really like him.”

Head tilting back as he sighed a little, Zayn went quiet, bubbles up to his elbows as he fumbled for the cutlery at the bottom. “Lou, just run the hoover over the place, yeah? Like, make it look… Sophia's level of acceptable.”

“Sophia's? No way. I'll aim for Liam's if I'm feeling generous,” Louis said.

“But he may be willing to consider a bribe,” Harry added.

Sometimes, living with Louis meant becoming a better, more patient person. It meant not rolling eyes when Louis was high off his tits and begging to be released into the wild for a bag of crisps. It meant cooking five nights a week, and ordering in the other two. Zayn closed his eyes for a few seconds, then replied, “I have a few grams of weed left from last weekend. You can have it.”

“That's some romantic shit right there,” Louis said, while Harry nodded in approval.

Niall arrived at roughly half-three in the afternoon, just as loud and loving as always. Zayn was hyperaware of it, now, of how Niall affected his breathing and his words and the way he smiled back. Louis kept suspiciously quiet when Niall said, “I'm knackered, Zayn. Anywhere I could take a nap?” and Zayn suggested his room.

Fresh sheets and a tidy floor meant that Zayn's desk was overflowing with the books, paper, and supplies that usually littered every other surface. Niall lit up when he saw a picture that Zayn drew a couple of weeks ago and sent over Snapchat, which Niall took a screenshot of.

“You gonna cuddle me?” Niall asked, immediately making himself at home in Zayn's bed.

Who was Zayn to say no to that? “What's _The Daily Mail_ going to say when I do my tell-all and say that, like, you're actually a big baby?”

“They're gonna congratulate me on being the best cuddler in the world, 'cause that's what you'll tell them I am,” Niall answered. His arms tightened on Zayn's waist for a second before releasing, going slack. “Thanks for havin’ me, though. Gets lonely in my place, sometimes. And thanks for letting me sleep.”

Zayn turned his head, slightly. “And letting you be big spoon?”

Niall’s eyes were already shut. “M’always big spoon,” he mumbled, smiling just a bit.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

**2019**

No matter how many times Niall walks through that door, suitcase trundling behind him, Zayn’s chest always lights up, like this is somehow a surprise. Niall looks worn around the edges, but he perks up when Zayn opens his arms wide and pulls him in for a big, long hug, even though the door’s still open and the heat’s escaping. Who cares? Niall’s here. Finally.

“Bring me any souvenirs?” Zayn asks, because Niall always buys a magnet from every state he plays at. This time it’s Stockholm, Copenhagen, Amsterdam, Turin, Milan, and Paris. They’ve nearly covered the entire travel wall in Niall’s music room.

“In my bag,” Niall says. “Got one from Milan that looks like Italy kicking a football.”

“Sick,” Zayn grins, snogging Niall gently and deeply, slow enough that it doesn’t kickstart the Welcome Home sex too soon, because they’re both hungry. Dinner always comes first.

Niall arranges all the ingredients on the bench, letting Zayn drift his hands up and down his back and waist, refamiliarising himself with the muscles, the contours of his shoulderblades, and the smooth curve of his lower back. Niall’s just as fit as the day they met, if not a bit more filled out in his arms and chest, and Zayn can’t resist the urge to _touch_ him non-stop, to always have that connection. It’ll be the best feeling in the world when they’re cuddling; the first night’s always the best, when Niall’s hugs are tightest, his voice soft when he whispers in Zayn’s ear about his trip, the things he’d seen or eaten or done. It’ll be his eighth year touring but Niall always finds new things to do. He’s great like that.

“Good to have my big spoon back,” Zayn smiles, rubbing the bridge of his nose against Niall’s neck. “You been holding pillows at night, like? Practising for me?”

“You know I have,” Niall smirked. “Paul sent you a photo of me sleeping.”

It’s a great picture. Zayn has it saved as his background image. “The real thing’s better, yeah?”

“Always is,” Niall says. “Not safe to have you around while I’m using this knife, though.”

Zayn gives Niall a neat kiss on the cheek before pulling himself away to the seat at the island, instead.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

**2015**

“There’s a party, tonight,” Niall said. Louis looked away from the telly for a second, and Zayn ran him off the track and into a fence.

“Bastard,” Louis hissed.

Niall heaved himself into a laughing fit, throwing his head back as Louis fed off the attention, getting really into it and shoving Zayn until he nearly fell off the sofa. Zayn still won.

“Fuck off,” Louis said. “Okay, what’s this about a party?”

“Cher’s place,” Niall replied, choosing Morton. “Do you guys wanna come?”

“Lloyd? Shit yeah,” Louis snorted. “Is that a real question? Tonight?”

“No, Lou. She’s having a New Year’s party over Easter.” Zayn must’ve hit sarcasm _perfectly_ , with the way Louis cuffed him over the head.

“Sick, then. What’s everyone wearing?” Louis immediately got up to go and sift through his clothes, and Zayn realised that the decision had been made for him; they were definitely all going.

Pretty early in, Louis buggered off to get hammered, be loud, dance, and do what Louis did best: make a tit of himself. Zayn would have tried to find him, except Cher’s house was bigger than he expected, and there were so many rooms that he got lost once or twice. Zayn couldn’t help but think that her living room was bigger than his and Louis’ entire flat, and, like, who _needed_ that much space? As the place filled out more and more, Zayn found himself gravitating towards the back doors. He’d quit smoking at his mum’s request, but maybe he could bum one off someone else, just to take the edge off. The music and the people were doing his head in. He needed fresh air. He needed _out_.

Before he could make his way to a group and pretend he forgot his carton at home, Niall swooped in out of nowhere, a warm press on Zayn’s side and a cold hand under his shirt, settling on his hip.

“Sorry, been holding a beer,” he explained with a grin when Zayn shivered.

“S’alright,” Zayn allowed. “How’s your night going?”

“Fucking ace. Cher’s parties are the best, right?” He wasn’t too drunk, tipsy enough that he was leaning on Zayn because he wanted to, not because he needed to, and his breath didn’t smell bad at all. “Are you having a good time, Zaynie baby?”

Zayn sat down on one of the outdoor chairs. He considered lying. “It’s not really my scene, like.”

Instead of finding his own chair, Niall took Zayn’s lap, and Zayn’s hand automatically went to his lower back. “You don’t like it?”

“Too many people, and, like, I don’t know any of them,” Zayn shrugged, trying not to hurt Niall’s feelings.

“I could introduce you…” Niall’s voice wandered off as he started to understand that Zayn was ready to turn in. “How are you getting home? The cars outside will take us to a train station.”

“Us? Nah, man. You can stay,” Zayn insisted, shaking his head.

“I arrived with you, I’ll leave with you,” Niall replied in a _that’s-how-it-is_ kind of way. “Just give me a sec.”

Zayn felt horrible about it, but he let Niall putter around on his phone before dragging Zayn to his feet, grinning. Niall got stopped ten times on the way to the front door. People saying hello. People saying goodbye. Zayn nearly slipped away, leaving Niall to socialise all night long, only to have Niall’s grip _tighten_ on him, and it wasn’t gentle. Niall’s hand was good and firm on Zayn’s, and suddenly this whole thing felt less like sympathy and more like Niall really just wanted to be with Zayn. Or maybe Zayn was just drunk. Even though he’d only had one glass of champagne, and a glass of wine.

“Alright, I can’t go _straight_ home,” Niall admitted as they hopped into the closest of a string of cabs outside. “I’m starving. Have to get something to eat. Nelly’s is about fifteen minutes from here, open twenty-four hours, three-hundred and sixty-five days a year. How’s that sound?”

Zayn shrugged his shoulders, glancing out the window as the car began to pull away from the party. “Won’t it be busy?”

“Nah. Isn’t usually, on New Year’s,” Niall replied.

“Alright.” Zayn just hoped it wouldn’t be posh. He could shell out ten quid, maybe, but he didn’t like Niall paying for things, multi-millionaire or not.

Nelly’s was a small, American-style diner, and the relief nearly knocked Zayn off his already-tipsy feet. Niall ordered the most ridiculous burger Zayn had ever seen, dripping with sauce, stacked tall and proud, framed by thick wedges scattered on the plate.

“ _Yes_ ,” Niall grinned as he attempted to pick it up.

“You want a crane for that, or, like, are you good?” Doing his best not to cringe as Niall took a messy bite, Zayn picked up his own—much more modest—burger.

“I’m fucking great,” Niall replied, mouth still full. “This is fucking great. You want some?”

Zayn considered saying no, sticking to his chicken burger, and watching Niall tackle that monstrosity by himself. What came out of his mouth was actually, “Yeah, alright,” as he reached for it.

Taking a bite was easier said than done, but they managed with minimal spillage down Zayn’s chin, which was easily laughed off. Being around so many people had put Zayn on edge. Being around Niall was like taking a breath of fresh air.

Outside, snow had coated every surface and turned the world into a safety hazard, and if it wasn’t for Niall’s determination to see the fireworks, Zayn would’ve quite happily stayed indoors. As it was, Niall was irresistible, and Zayn was helpless to the way his face lit up at the first signs of someone lighting their fireworks early.

“I fucking love them. Fuck,” Niall breathed, eyes chasing one as it soared into the sky. “That’s sick.”

Lip stuck between his teeth, Zayn told himself to stop staring, look at the pretty fireworks instead. Sometimes it hit him in steady doses, and sometimes it hit him in bursts; either way, it was pointless trying to deny that he was most definitely in love with Niall.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

**2019**

At tea time, Zayn asks the standard questions about Niall’s trip, and as always, he’s far too happy just _being_ with Niall to actually care that he’s heard it all before. Niall took his yearly tourist shots with the Eiffel Tower and the Coliseum. He ate snails, pizza, rösti, fondue, and tarte tatin. He even brought chocolate for everyone, because Niall is thoughtful like that.

“I couldn’t wait to come back,” Niall says, abruptly serious. Zayn chews his steak slower. “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you, too,” Zayn nods, watching Niall stand and make his way to the chair beside Zayn. He sits, hand sliding over Zayn’s knee, and moves in for a kiss.

“Maybe we could do something that’s just us, this year,” Niall suggests, pulling his plate towards him. “A week— or a month away, somewhere else. Maybe Mexico. I love Mexico.”

“When? Summer? You’ll be touring,” Zayn says.

Niall seems to hold onto his breath for a beat too long, throat closing around something. “Maybe,” he finally sighs, going back to his meal before Zayn can ask what that’s supposed to mean.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

**2016**

In February, Niall released a single called _Threads_. Obviously Zayn knew it was coming, partly due to the massive hints dropped by Niall’s Facebook and Twitter pages, and because Niall told him. What Zayn didn’t expect was _Louis_ , of all people, up at 8am and straddling Zayn’s bum.

“Wake up,” Louis said, and it was a joke up until he spoke, voice uncharacteristically serious. Zayn rolled over.

“What’s going on? Is Niall’s song out, yet?” Zayn asked.

Louis nodded, gesturing to his phone, eyes unable to leave the screen. “It’s out, alright,” he said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Like,” Zayn sighed, brain too foggy to try and deal with Louis’ ambiguous answers. “Is it good?”

“Well, yeah. It’s about you.” Wriggling out of Zayn’s hands and to his side, Louis held his phone above them so Zayn could see the screen.

Zayn rubbed his eyes. “What?”

“Bro, I’m telling you, this song is about you.” Half of Louis’ mouth cocked into a grin as he continued; “ _I’m all curves and you’re all angles, but we fit together like puzzle pieces on your couch at 10pm on a Saturday_.” He scrolled down. “ _I keep telling myself that the next time we touch will be enough for me, and I’ll never tell you because you hate clichés, but it’s never enough, I always want more, more from you, more of you._ Or, _Say the word and I’ll be there, I’ll be whatever you need, I’ll be your pizza boy or I’ll be your man_.” When Louis finished, he tipped his head towards Zayn, excitement coming off him in bursts with every word, and it was too much, too much for a morning, too much for Zayn. Louis lost a bit of his buzz. “What’s wrong?”

“Just… stop,” Zayn said softly. “Stop talking, Lou.”

“Hey, this is a good thing,” Louis said, still smiling but in a calmer way, not so hectic and high. “You really like Niall, and you know what this means? He really likes you, too.”

Zayn did his best to scoff without choking on it. “And you got this from a song that could be about literally anyone? Jesus. Like, did he even write it? Niall’s songs are never that deep.”

“Co-written by Ed Sheeran,” Louis supplied flippantly. “So what? He needed a bit of help getting his thoughts onto paper?”

“I’m going back to sleep,” Zayn grumbled.

“Fine,” Louis snapped, with real heat behind it. “But I’m going to mention this very moment in my best man’s speech at your wedding. Can I get a quote?”

“Fuck off,” Zayn groaned into his pillow. It wasn’t fair of Louis to say shit like that. Zayn had never been so hopelessly serious about someone before, and all the song did was remind him that he was one of many ready to fall to Niall’s feet, and that there were thousands of others who’d think the song was about them, too.

“Well, I can’t say _that_ in front of your mother,” Louis huffed, closing the door a bit too hard behind him.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

**2019**

Niall’s suitcase sits unpacked on their bedroom floor, zip split enough for him to pull out the new magnets. Although no fans will believe it, Niall’s actually the tidy one, and he likes things to be a certain way, which is why Zayn keeps his distance when it comes to Niall’s suitcases during the time they spend between the bedroom floor and the cupboard under the mezzanine stairs.

Listening to the slurp of the emptying bathtub, Zayn wraps a towel around Niall’s shoulders, nosing into his hot, flushed skin that smells of oranges. Niall’s half-asleep in his arms, resting his head back on the tiled wall, eyes slipping shut as he leans mostly on Zayn. “I love you,” Niall murmurs.

“Makes two of us,” Zayn whispers. “I love me, too.”

“Dick,” Niall scoffs quietly.

“What a coincidence. You love that as well.” Zayn hooks his arm around Niall’s waist and holds him as closely as he can, because Niall’s a good, steady weight on him. Holding him feels so good, knowing he’s at home, safe and sound. Tomorrow, they’ll have a group dinner and the lads will get their chance to catch up with Niall, but tonight he’s all Zayn’s. It’s one of those nights where sex will wait until the morning, and Zayn’s more than happy just to have this for the time being.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

**2016**

_Threads_ was a massive hit. Of course it was. Whether the song was about Zayn or not, he didn’t know, but it was still fucking beautiful. If Zayn was in the right mood he’d even tear up a bit just listening to it, and how he was going to handle the music video coming out in a few weeks, he had no idea.

Niall was in Japan when he called Zayn, no text for warning, no questions about whether it was okay. Maybe he'd finally caught on that Zayn would always tell him it was okay, or maybe he just couldn't wait. Either way, Zayn answered immediately, no _let-it-ring-three-times_ bullshite.

Maybe that was a sign that he was in too deep.

“Morning, Niall.” Zayn yawned, if only because he liked how apologetic Niall got when it came to things like that.

“Did I wake you up? Sorry,” Niall said. “We just got back from dinner. It was curry.”

“Made you think of me?” That might be a slur on Niall's end, but it just made Zayn's smile bigger.

“Nah. I try not to think about you when you're this far away. Paul brought you up 'cause I was getting a bit fidgety at teatime, so yeah, like,” Niall replied.

No word could accurately describe what happened to Zayn's heartbeat when Niall said shit like that. “Aw, are you getting fidgety because you miss me, Nialler?” _Please, yes._

“Psh. Bet you miss me, too,” Niall snorted.

“Of course,” Zayn grinned, unable to keep it out of his voice. “Like, must be difficult being across oceans with your mind stuck on me.”

“Yeah,” Niall said, and something about that caught Zayn off-guard; there was no joke beneath it. That word was help up by pure honesty and maybe a bit of wistfulness.

“You should write a song about me, next time,” Zayn said, softly, carefully.

“I— Maybe I did,” Niall replied. “God, alright, I can’t do this.”

“Do what?” Zayn asked, nerves peaking.

“This elusive, mysterious stuff. I wrote a song for you, Zayn,” Niall said. “Like, Ed helped, but it was still about you, for you, from me. And I really wanted to kiss you back at Nelly's. So there.” He seemed to realise what he’d just let out, since he got quiet again. “Is that okay? That I wrote a song for you?” It was so weird for Niall to ask something like that. He was the no-boundaries kind of lad, his heart as uninhibited and open as everything else about him, and now he was questioning that? For the first time, Zayn got the feeling that maybe he was someone really special to Niall. More than a really good mate. More than someone he might have sex with, even.

“Fuck’s sake, Niall. More than okay,” Zayn managed. “Like, I’ve been drawing pictures of you for years, now, so, like, one song’s hardly going to capsize anything.”

“Yeah,” Niall said, calmer now. “When we were outside, and you were leaning against the railing, watching the fireworks— I missed most of them, ’cause all I wanted was for you to turn your head just a bit, get a bit closer, maybe let me kiss you. Would you’ve let me, like?”

There really hadn’t been that much space between them at all, and Zayn had the exact same thought, that night; he could’ve moved half an inch and their mouths would’ve met.

“Zayn?”

“Of course I would’ve, Niall,” Zayn relented, giving in to the pounding of his heart and the messy state of his brain. “You should’ve.”

“Yeah,” Niall agreed, sounding a bit sad about it.

“Next time you see me, kiss me,” Zayn said.

Niall hesitated. “Will you kiss me back?”

“Yeah.” Zayn was nodding, the hand not holding his phone going tight on his duvet.

“Then I will,” Niall said.

“Good,” Zayn replied, voice gone breathy.

They stayed quiet for a few seconds, like neither of them knew how to follow that up. Then Niall said, “Zayn?”

Zayn licked his bottom lip. “Yeah, Niall?”

“I’m not… really in my hotel room,” Niall admitted sheepishly. “And I lied about Paul bringing you up. I really did have curry for dinner last night, though.”

Frowning slightly, Zayn squinted at the wall. “Where are you, then?”

“At the pub where we met.” Niall had a smile in his voice that was all too easy to picture, tilted with a halfhearted apology.

That made Zayn sit right up, his blood pouring from his head from the movement, but, like, _what_? No. Niall was in Japan. “You’re supposed to be in Japan,” he said, baffled.

“Had three days of promo shoots, but I got them juggled around so I could see you,” Niall explained. “Can I come over?”

“Yes,” Zayn answered, standing up and grabbing a towel. He had to have the quickest shower in the world, and clean up his room.

“Cool,” Niall said. “Let me finish my pint, and I’ll be there.”

“As my pizza boy or my man?” Zayn asked, and Niall snorted.

“See you in a bit, Zayn,” he said, and hung up.

Much like the morning after their first night together, Zayn scrubbed himself raw, hurrying along as he prayed that Niall was sipping his beer, rather than guzzling it. No such luck. Zayn’s arms were full with clothes when Niall knocked on his door, so he threw them in the hamper—his future self would just have to deal with the massive laundry pile—and did a quick once-over in the mirror. His hair was growing out from his buzzcut, and his face could do with a shave. Niall would have a red, raw beard imprint, and Louis would be laughing for _days_.

“Was starting to think you’d gone back to sleep,” Niall joked, slipping past Zayn. He had his hands in his pockets, his shoulders bunched up, stance all shy and nervous. Zayn gravitated towards him without even thinking of the implications until he was too close to stop, his body against Niall’s. Niall’s eyes were a bit wider than normal, his voice tentative when he asked, quietly, “Yeah?”

Zayn gave a nod, his bottom lip stuck between his teeth, released slowly as they both leaned in. Niall’s mouth was cold from the walk, but he must have had his hands in his pockets because they were warm on Zayn’s skin, fingers tensing the second their mouths met before he pulled away.

“I really like you,” he said, sort of helplessly, “so I can’t do this unless we’re on the same page, alright? This won’t be just sex for me.”

“It won’t be just sex for me, either,” Zayn said, and this time when they kissed, it was with Niall’s grin pressed against Zayn’s mouth.

Zayn didn’t point out that Niall had assumed they’d have sex. Having sex with Niall was a want that began years ago, progressing from his seventeen-year-old brain’s insatiable lust, to a year ago when Niall held the No. 1 spot on his If You Could Sleep With Any Celebrity list, to now, when it was passionate and built up by years of curiosity. Zayn held Niall in his arms, kissed him as gently as he could, and tried not to let his heart get carried away with how wildly it was hitting his ribs.

“Like, maybe we could take this to my bedroom,” Zayn said, and smirked a little. “Louis made the living room a no-shag zone.”

Niall laughed, his lips vibrating with it as he nuzzled into Zayn’s neck, warm breath blowing out over Zayn’s skin. He took Zayn’s hand and led him down the hallway, pressed Zayn against the wall and snogged him like it was a checkpoint, a reward for making it that far. Zayn twisted the doorknob once, twice, and got it on the third go, much to Niall’s amusement.

They got inside Zayn’s room without breaking any of Louis’ precious rules. It was a miracle.

Climbing on top of Zayn, Niall worked off his shoes while Zayn helped with his jacket. “Were you expecting rain?” he asked, finger caught on a drawstring.

“We could have a shower, later,” Niall suggested with a grin on his face. Zayn thought it was there more often than not, on high-beam from the inside-out. The surge of hormones in his blood made it impossibly hard for Zayn not to think about how much he loved Niall at that moment, pink-faced and beautiful, half-out of his shirt because he wouldn’t pull away from Zayn long enough to get it off his arms.

“God, that’s a plan,” Zayn agreed. His thumbs slotted perfectly into the soft pudge above Niall’s hips, his smooth chest was warm under Niall’s scruffy body, and when their dicks pushed together, his eyes rolled back into his head. Niall made the best sound in the entire world - a low, boyish grunt.

“Trousers off,” Niall said, already reaching for the waistband of Zayn’s sweats. They slid down his hips and thighs with no hassle, the backs of Niall’s knuckles following closely. Niall began to wrestle with his button.

“Slower,” Zayn said, smoothing his hands over Niall’s and easing his fly open.

Niall watched him, his gaze intense but soft, mouth slipping into a sly smirk as he leaned down and rubbed his dick on Zayn’s. The cotton dragged in just the right way, and Zayn didn’t mean to but he gasped quietly. Niall echoed him back with another roll of his hips; “Slower? Like this?” Niall planted his forearms on either side of Zayn’s head, boxing them in, and giving Zayn an up-close view of his shoulders and biceps, not that he’d tear his gaze from Niall’s. He was just past half-hard, already sensitive to the touch, and Niall was doing all the things Zayn liked. Was he that easy to read?

“Like that,” Zayn agreed, and fuck, Niall’s tongue dipped into the corner of his mouth, cocky and teasing. Zayn brought him down for another kiss, full of something bigger than himself that he was pretty sure only Niall could handle. Zayn wanted the kind of sex where they could take their time. He wanted romantic, passionate, _hold-me-tight_ intimacy, and that nearly overpowered him, made him feel weak.

“Good.” Niall swallowed. “Like, Harry told me you kinda like it when he tells you what to do, and holds you down.”

It wasn’t unlike Harry to say shit like that; he would have done it flippantly, no big deal, I used to be a baker, monkeys peel bananas from the bottom, I like to spunk on people’s faces, Zayn’s a submissive top, what’s for tea? Or maybe he did it on purpose, knowing that Zayn and Niall would eventually get together. Did everyone see this coming but Zayn? That seemed ridiculous, because Zayn was pretty observant.

Then again, Niall did write him a fucking song.

“I do, yeah,” Zayn said. “Gently, though.”

“Hold you down gently,” Niall said with a smile. “Got it.” He kissed Zayn again, sweet and easy, like he wasn’t still grinding on Zayn’s lap. It was hot, made Zayn think back to seventeen years old, how his hands would get sweaty just _thinking_ about Niall. Now Niall was shifting forward to sit on his dick, wearing only his black briefs, and Zayn felt himself losing his everthere cool inch by inch. “Grab your lube. Get me ready.”

Harry liked to fuck Zayn’s mouth during prep, but for now Zayn thought that they could take it in baby steps. He got on top of Niall, fishing the lube from his bedside drawer, gaining sweet relief from the mattress when he was able to lie stomach-down, Niall’s knob slick between his lips. He didn’t hold back on a moan even though it made Niall laugh a little bit.

“I had a shower before I came here,” Niall said, sitting up on his elbows. “You like rimming?”

“Love it,” Zayn pulled off to say, mouthing down Niall’s taint to his hole. Every grunt and gasp only made Zayn love this more. He’d always been into giving head—any and all types of head, even if his attraction to women was close to minimal—and Niall was quite the opposite of an exception. Niall took Zayn’s fingers quickly and easily, and Zayn lost himself in the motion of curling his fingers and feeling, hearing, and watching Niall’s reaction. His hips jerking. His thigh muscles tightening and lifting. His breath catching. Using one hand to shimmy his own briefs down, Zayn kept at it until he was sure Niall could take anything Zayn would give him.

“Come on up, Zayn.” Niall used a hand on Zayn’s head to draw him up, patient as Zayn took his time kissing Niall’s stomach, throat, over his chin, and into his mouth. “I’m gonna ride you.” Zayn grunted out an agreement, so Niall went on; “And I’m gonna write a song about how good it is.”

“What’s your opening line gonna be?” Zayn asked, condom in-hand but that could wait. He was too busy drinking in all the details, revelling in the fact that he now knew what Niall looked like when he was turned on and maybe in love.

“Hm,” Niall hummed, fingertips drawing feather-soft trails on Zayn’s neck. “ _I thought I’d seen the world until you showed me the map printed in black ink across your body_. How’s that?”

“Perfect,” Zayn smiled.

“Good. Now, get on your back.” Pushing up with his hips, Niall tapped Zayn’s arm, and raised his eyebrows.

“You like bossing me around?” Zayn teased.

“Almost as much as you like being bossed around,” Niall smirked, slipping a thigh over Zayn’s hips. He sat right on Zayn’s cock, making it slide in the mess of lube between his arse cheeks. “Yeah, you like it.”

“Jesus,” Zayn did his best to roll on the condom without looking, sliding lube over the latex and using his slick hand to take a few tugs off Niall’s dick, too. As Niall got himself seated, Zayn’s tip popping past his rim, Zayn did his best to pull himself together.

The only thing that could snap Zayn out of staring at Niall lowering himself down inch by inch, was Niall’s voice as he said, “Yeah, look at me.”

Zayn’s eyes flew up and landed on Niall’s face. “Gonna do more than look at you,” he smirked, pushing himself into an upright position and bringing Niall in as close as he could. Zayn pressed his mouth to Niall’s chest, sliding his lips along Niall’s collarbone. They both helped Niall find his way into a rhythm, just slow enough that Zayn wasn’t afraid he’d come too quickly, fast enough that Niall’s dick hit Zayn’s stomach with every bounce.

“I’m so glad you’re good in bed,” Niall panted, and Zayn heard the grin before he saw it.

“Like—” Zayn licked his lips and started grinding slowly into Niall. “—did you think I’d be shit? What’s that about?”

“It’d suck if I met the perfect guy and he was a tragic shag, is all,” Niall explained, but his words were getting shakier the closer he got, leaving wet smears on Zayn’s stomach. When he came, it was with an open mouth and a sharp breath in, lips cocked into half a grin, and Zayn had never been so relieved to come second. “Christ. You, now. Before I collapse.”

“Romantic,” Zayn scoffed, following the orders nevertheless. Niall tipped him back onto the bed, grabbing Zayn’s wrists and using his forearm to hold them against the pillow. The charge of energy was instantaneous, exactly what Zayn needed to piston in and out until, finally, those last two long, sweet thrusts as his brain turned to mush.

Niall stayed in place for a moment, lungs still working in ragged pulls and pushes. “Alright?” he asked when he moved, and Zayn mourned the pressure as the weight lifted from his wrists, but used his freed hands to remove the condom.

“Like, I see what you mean,” Zayn relented.

“Mmhm,” Niall agreed proudly.

“You wanna be big spoon?” It was a stupid question, obviously. Niall was always big spoon.

“Of course. Can’t risk you thinking it’s okay to have another go at me,” Niall said. “Arse hurts a bit.”

“You should’ve said,” Zayn frowned. “I could’ve gone slower, like.”

“Nah, it’s not like that,” Niall said, shaking his head slightly. “Haven’t done it in a while, is all.”

Despite the glow of sunshine from behind the curtains, drowsiness started to kick in beneath Zayn’s eyelids. “Bottomed?”

“Yeah, but, like, I more meant sex in general,” Niall shrugged.

“Been waiting for me?” God, with his mind strung so high and Cloud-9-like, Zayn felt his heartbeat flicker.

“Shut up,” Niall smirked. “Spooning time. Roll over.”

“Bossy,” Zayn murmured, giving Niall a slow, open-mouth kiss before turning onto his other side.

“You love it,” Niall pointed out, returning the kiss by placing one behind Zayn’s ear, his fingers knotting up with Zayn’s over Zayn’s chest.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

**2019**

“I washed all the sheets,” Zayn says, pulling back the duvet and watching Niall collapse in its place.

“Clean cotton’s the best smell in the world,” Niall mumbles into his pillowcase. His limbs are everywhere, but Zayn’s had plenty of experience working around his boyfriend’s starfish-like tendencies. Arranging himself under one of Niall’s arms, Zayn finds his place easily. Sometimes, all he can do is wait until Niall gets back. Others, it’s like Niall never left. It’s funny how that works.

“I bought groceries. Like, didn’t get stuff for tomorrow, though. Figured the chef could pick out his own ingredients,” Zayn says, pushing Niall’s hair off his face.

“Cool,” Niall says. “Hey, let’s take a trip over Summer. Go across Europe.” Quiet but eager, the suggestion comes off lightly, as though he can disguise the weight behind it. Zayn isn’t fooled.

“You mean me coming on tour with you?” He hates to be the realistic one, the one to hold down someone whose heart seems to know nothing but freedom. Zayn also hates letting himself get carried away with Niall's plans that usually end up work-consumed, so he says, “We tried that, yeah? And you had to work through so much of it that we ended up fighting, like, all the time.”

It takes a second, but Zayn realises that Niall's picking at the pillowcase with his stubby fingernails, and he's biting his lip, avoiding Zayn's eyes. “I think there might not to be a tour, next year,” he says eventually. It doesn't sound like an _I think_. It sounds pretty final.

“What about two-thousand twenty album? Or…” Matching the slow, tentative pace of Niall's voice, Zayn watches for the little giveaways, and Niall shrugs a bit helplessly. He realises what Niall’s saying. The last tour. The last album. “When did you start thinking about this?”

Niall releases his lip. “On the road, I guess. Started writing… goodbye songs. I missed you so much, and usually that's okay. Like, I can deal with thinking about you when you're not around, Zayn, but this time it was different.” He sounds like he's thought about this a lot, actually. “This time, I realised I wanted to be with you more than I wanted to be on the road. And that's never happened to me before.”

“I'll always support you, Niall. You know that,” Zayn says, and takes a deep breath, releasing it slowly. “Like, I just need you to be sure you're making the right decision, yeah? I don't want to stop you from doing something you love. I can't.”

“I want to be with you,” Niall says, insistent.

Zayn smiles a little. “You're with me right now.”

“I know, but it's not easy, is it?” Niall's mouth starts to slip into a soft smile of his own, eyes big, trying to make Zayn understand. “When I started on _The X Factor_ , I'd left school, and I didn't have anything to keep me anywhere. Now I have you, and I don't mean that I want to be with you four months total per year. I want to be with you during Spring, and Autumn, and I want to go on holidays, or take a year off and _travel_. I don't want to count down the days until I'm leaving next, or try to squash plans into my breaks. I just want you. All of you. All the time.”

“You’d be giving up so much, like,” Zayn says, reaching forward to take Niall’s hand.

“I’m not giving up anything,” Niall tells him, kissing his knuckles. “I’ve had my wild ride. I’ve lived my popstar life. Now I wanna start a new life with you.”

“And that’s okay with you? Promise?” Zayn can’t believe this. It’ll be a whole new life, living with Niall twelve months a year, seeing him every morning, no red X on the calendar along with a flight number and time. That’s so strange to think about.

“Yes,” Niall says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I love you.”

“I love you,” Zayn nods.

“We can spend all our boxer-only days together,” Niall whispers. “And my music stuff doesn’t have to end. I’ll do things when or if I feel like it, but you’ll always come first.”

“I’ll remind you you’ve said that, tomorrow morning,” Zayn teases. He can’t resist the dirty undertone, not when he knows how it’ll make Niall smile.

Niall gives a halfhearted attempt at smothering his laugh, only to have it burst out anyway. “You’re an idiot. I can’t believe I’m in love with you.”

“Neither can I,” Zayn says.

Despite himself, Zayn thinks that maybe this will be the one change—the umbrella change that will unleash so many more—will be for the better. Niall holds his hand and says goodnight, and they fall asleep _knowing_ that it’ll all be just fine.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from The Neighbourhood's _Sweater Weather_.
> 
> Tumblr is [camonialle](http://camonialle.tumblr.com/)!


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